Epigraphe

I have a rendez-vous with Death. At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade, And apple blossoms fill the air. I have a rendez-vous with Death. When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand, And lead me into his dark land, And close my eyes and quench my breath, It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendez-vous with Death. On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year, And the first meadow flowers a...